


Stay (With Me)

by DorthyAnn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cigarettes, Cleaning, Cooking, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, HD Domesticity Fest 2021, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28866924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DorthyAnn/pseuds/DorthyAnn
Summary: Harry and Draco have been seeing each other casually, whenever they bumped into one another at Galas and Balls and other social events, always keeping one another at a careful distance. But one step forward seems to remove all space between them, sending them crashing together with an almost inevitable gravity.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 39
Kudos: 251
Collections: HD Domesticity Fest





	Stay (With Me)

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank the MODs for being patient with me💜 and my sister being my beta. And I want to thank MissDrarryDawn for the prompt which grabbed my imagination. I hope you like it okay, I made sure there was no explicit smut but I did imply smut and intimacy, sorry if that's too much.

  
Harry pressed his face into the curve of Draco’s neck, the skin warm and sweetly damp from the press of their bodies. The cloakroom was small, made smaller by the press of winter cloaks smelling of preservation and moth repelling charms waiting for the cold to return.

The swim of alcohol made Harry’s head gentle with softness.

“If you’re done, Potter, I need to cast a charm before these wrinkles set in,” Draco said. He was trying to sound formal and stiff, but a gentleness lingered in his tone.

Harry didn’t move. He wasn’t ready to go back out there, out to the bright lights and even brighter saccharine smiles. Here, in these stolen moments with Draco, Harry felt like he could breathe. He wasn’t ready to let go.

“Potter...” Draco said reproachfully. But when Harry only held him tighter, he raised a careful hand and brushed it through Harry’s hair, damp curls clinging to his fingers.

Harry relaxed into him, sighing with relief at the moments reprieve.

Draco’s nails dragged across Harry’s scalp, “People will be looking for you.”

“They always are,” Harry frowned, glad no one could see the expression, “Want to run away with me?” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth and forced himself away from Draco. “I’ve had too much to drink.”

Malfoy said nothing, his expression solemn. He took out his wand and set their clothes right, smooth and wrinkle-free. Only the two of them would know what they had been doing in the close space.

Harry left first, returning to the ballroom with its loud music and glittering lights. Bright, sparkling robes swirled around the dance floor as the band played. Harry grabbed a flute of champagne off a floating tray and emptied half the bubbling liquid without tasting it. A flashing smile of recognition from across the room sent someone hurrying over to him, and Harry forced a genial smile he didn’t feel in the slightest and went to meet them.

The night fell into a blur of talking and champagne and dancing, grinding glass to sand in its repetition. Harry found himself scanning the edge of the room whenever he had the chance, looking for Draco’s bright hair and robes of silver and cream. Unlike Harry, always surrounded by people plying for his time, Draco spoke to only one or two people, his back stiff and his expressions careful. He was always so careful.

As it grew late, people began to drift home until only a few remained. Harry walked through the fallen decorations scattered across the floor, streamers charmed into vines and flower petals, illusions of lightning bugs still spiralled in the air overhead.

One of the organisers met him near the doors, shaking his hand and talking excitedly about the number of donations they received for their muggle-born children charity.

Harry nodded, reminding himself to smile, to be pleased, it was why he supposedly came after all.

The organiser summoned an unopened champagne bottle from the back and pushed it into Harry’s arms with a well-meaning pat on the back. Harry managed a tight smile and excused himself, stepping outside into the cool night air.

There was a wide squat railing made of white stone running around the front of the house, and sitting on top of it was Draco. The lamplight caught on his hair like lingering shards of starlight and traced the contours of his face. He had a cigarette held delicately between his fingers and as Harry watched, breathed out a thin stream of coiling white smoke into the night sky.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Harry said, stopping in his tracks outside the door.

Draco flicked the end of the cigarette, dislodging a clump of ash that bounced off his immaculate black boots before drifting down to the stone pavers, “I don’t. I hate the taste and the smell.”

“But you’re-” Harry nodded to the cigarette.

“I can only smoke when I’m inebriated. If I didn’t hate everything about it I would probably be a smoker,” Draco said. He hesitated and then held it out to Harry.

Harry didn’t smoke either, he had tried weed with friends, but he didn’t go out of his way for it. He took the cigarette anyway and pulled a little of the smoke into his lungs. Being a little drunk did help, he didn’t feel the cough in the back of his throat.

“Menthol?” Harry said, handing it back.

Draco shrugged, “Makes it more tolerable.”

“If you hate it, why try and smoke at all?” Harry asked.

Draco drew in deeply, the end of the cigarette burning cherry red in the night, and breathed out a slow stream of smoke into the sky. “There’s something about it, something… tactile and the way it makes my head feel that I quite like,” he grinned wryly, “Provided I’m drunk enough to put up with the rest of it.”

Harry smiled and held up the full bottle of champagne from the organiser. He charmed the cork out from the bottle, sitting beside Draco, drinking from the bottle and coughing at the burn of bubbles and alcohol.

Draco chuckled, “That’s why you don’t drink champagne from the bottle.”

Harry cleared his throat, “It just needs to breathe a bit.”

“I don’t believe that’s how champagne works,” Draco said. He held out his hand, and Harry passed him the bottle without question.

Harry watched Draco sip from the bottle, eyes closed and contemplative as more ash slowly drifted down from his cigarette.

Harry plucked the cigarette from Draco’s fingers and breathed in the last bit of smoke before it burned down to the filter.

“Rude,” Draco muttered.

Harry smiled faintly flicking the butt onto the ground and vanished it with a flick of his wrist.

“Now you’re just showing off,” Draco said, passing the bottle back.

“Doesn’t work half the time,” Harry said, sipping the champagne more carefully.

Draco pulled a rather battered pack of cigarettes from his pocket and fumbled out another, “Light?”

Harry found his wand and cast a small incindo to light the end of the cigarette.

Draco cupped his hands around the faint flame, breathing in and making the cigarette burn bright.

“I should warn you, you’re probably going to end up in the paper,” Harry said, bouncing his knee uneasily.

“Hm,” Draco said absently, “I would have thought all the reporters were long gone by now.”

“They always have a least one watching me,” Harry said.

“You can’t be that interesting, especially after quitting the aurors,” Draco said.

Harry took a few swallows from the bottle, glad for the burn of bubbles and alcohol, like the sear of it could burn away his unease and discomfort.

“We don’t see one another in public much, I’m sure this will be a rare treat for the little parasites,” Draco said, his tone flat as he absently flicked the end of the cigarette with his thumb.

Harry winced, the champagne seeming to lodge painfully in his chest.

Draco passed the cigarette over, and Harry took it, letting the smoke linger in his lungs, breathing it out slowly. He felt light-headed.

“Pass the bottle, would you?” Draco said.

Harry handed it over and turned his head up towards the sky. The gala was being held at the country estate of some old family or other that Harry couldn’t be bothered to care about, but it was darker here, and he could make out the stars unlike the grey-faded skies of London. He blinked up at a bright almost full moon, and put the cigarette to his lips again.

Draco pulled the cigarette from his mouth before he could draw more smoke into his lungs.

“Hey,” Harry said without malice.

Draco ignored him, “Merlin, I’m going to smell like an ashtray.”

A clump of ash fell off the cigarette and landed on Draco’s knee, a blotch of grey on the cream fabric.

“Shit,” Draco hissed, and hastily tried to brush it off.

“You can get your elf clean it off,” Harry said.

“I don’t have any house-elves,” Draco said quietly, “And this robe was a rental.”

“Oh.”

Draco frowned at his knee, “A cleaning charm will get rid of most of it. Perhaps they won’t notice.”

There was a rustle from the brush behind them, and as Harry turned to look, listening for the click of a camera lens, the scratch of a pen on paper but all he saw was a fox running out from under the perfectly trimmed hedges and disappearing into the night.

Harry hated the thought of them being around him, watching him, watching Draco who deserved to be left alone. He swallowed, and the lump in his throat bloomed into a simmer of heat, anger and desire and frustration, “...I don’t want them looking at you. I don’t want them bothering you.”

Draco tilted his head, looking at Harry out of the corner of one eye.

“You’re too-” _important_ , the words stuck in his throat.

Draco looked down at his hand, the cigarette burning low.

Harry didn’t watch him bring it to his lips, thin and pale pink. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine them flushed and wet, swollen from Harry’s mouth on his. He laughed at himself and didn’t like the bitterness of the sound.

Draco flicked the cigarette butt onto the ground with a faint splash of orange sparks, “Vanish that, would you?”

Harry flicked his hand.

Nothing happened

Harry sighed and tried again. It took three tries before the little spot of light vanished into nothing.

Draco was smirking.

“I told you it doesn’t always work,” Harry said.

“Especially after a night of champagne,” Draco said. He braced his hands on the wall and leaned back. His shoulder pressed against Harry’s.

“The champagne certainly doesn’t help,” Harry said.

“Hm,” Draco said softly. He bounced one foot in a moment of anxious energy. “...Come back to mine?”

Harry looked over at him.

Draco did not meet his gaze. Harry watched Draco, the way his throat jumped as if caught on his words.

“...I have exceptional wards. No one will bother us,” Draco added.

“I’m sure. I’ve never seen you in the papers except when you come to events like these.”

“I value my privacy,” Draco said.

Draco finally looked back. He seemed nervous, almost shy. Harry took a deep breath, the cool night air sticking in his lungs.

“Yeah,” Harry said. He set the half-empty champagne bottle on the ground and held out his hand, “Side-along me?”

Draco nodded, his grip light on Harry’s hand, and apparated them away.

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


Harry woke in an unfamiliar room. His head ached from a faint hangover, and he groaned under his breath, scrubbing his hand over his face, his chin rough with stubble. Heavy dark curtains covered the windows, only letting in a soft grey light around the edges. The bed wasn’t his, but it was deliciously soft, Harry shifted his feet in the gentle warmth, feeling reluctant to move.

Last night…. Last night they had apparated into Malfoy’s house, dark and too shadowed to see much detail as they stumbled into his bedroom, their clothing discarded haphazardly along the way. And fell onto the massive king-sized bed, the soft bedding and piles of feather pillows sinking them toward one another and covering them in warmth, the scent of lavender and the faint lingering smell of Draco’s shampoo. In that moment, Harry had wanted to spend the rest of his life memorising Draco’s kiss.

Harry closed his eyes for a second, remembering the moment. And then he must have fallen asleep. Or perhaps they both had, as Harry found it hard to believe that Draco wouldn’t have shaken him awaken in annoyance if Harry had drifted off first.

He turned his head toward the figure half-buried in the blankets beside him.

Draco’s face was relaxed in a way Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever seen. Every memory he carried of Draco in his mind, he held tension between his brows and in the uncertain persistent frown on the edge of his mouth. Even when they were young.

And Harry let himself stare, studying every faint line and shadow falling across Draco’s face, allowed himself this indulgence. Their meetings had always been brief and easy. Though Harry could admit to himself that the easiness was a facade, a careful dance between the two of them, reluctant to take a step closer.

A few strands of Draco’s hair had fallen around his face, moving with every slow breath. As Harry watched, Draco’s nose wrinkled, and he sleepily tried to push his hair back before pressing his cheek into the pillowcase. Without thinking, Harry reached over and caught the stands of hair on the back of his finger and guided them behind his ear, brushing over the soft skin on the shell of his ear. Draco’s mouth pressed together for a second, making a noise in the back of his throat, and Harry felt like he might drown in that faint sound.

Harry wasn’t sure how much time passed before he eased himself out of bed, walking silently to the door and slipping out into the hallway. He found a bathroom down the hall and helped himself to the shower, letting the hot water pour over his head. He washed the smell of stale smoke and champagne off his skin and hair, replacing them with Malfoy’s shampoo and body wash, eucalyptus and birch. It reminded Harry a bit of his own shampoo but sweeter.

His wand was in Draco’s room or lost in his robes along the way, so he grabbed the lone towel from the hook by the shower and scrub it over his hair.

The door clicked open, followed by Draco wearing a thin robe held loosely together in his hands.

“Morning,” Harry said, wondering if he should feel awkward, if he was overstepping by still being here. “Sorry, I fell asleep last night.”

Draco blinked, his head tilting as he stared.

Belatedly Harry moved the towel down to cover himself.

“I’d say I’ve seen most of you before but never all at once,” Draco said, a little cheekiness in his tone for all the sleep roughness of his voice.

Harry smiled.

“I need to wash up, I smell awful,” Draco said.

“You smell fine to me,” Harry disagreed.

“I smell like an ashtray,” Draco said sourly, “God it’s the worst smell in the world. I’ll have to stay in the guest room.”

“The guest room?” Harry said, “You can just wash the sheets?”

“I could ruin them,” Draco said, stepping around him into the shower. “I have, in fact, many times." He looked away, embarrassment colouring his features, “I hire a house-elf to come once a month and clean everything.”

“Once a month?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

Draco dropped the robe onto the hook, “It’s plenty.” He grabbed the towel from Harry’s waist and hung that up as well, “I need my towel.”

Harry blinked in surprise, but Draco just smirked and gave Harry another cheeky look over before closing the shower and turning the water on.

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


Harry collected his clothes, one piece at a time as he headed back to the bedroom. They were stale and sour-smelling from yesterday’s sweat and smoke. A cleaning charm would get rid of the dirt and lint but was useless when it came to embedded smells and sweat. He stood in the middle of the bedroom, trying to decide what to do. His boxers and undershirt were relatively clean, seeing as he had only worn them for a few hours the night, so he pulled them back on. He left the rest of his clothes in a pile and decided to look around. He could make some coffee for them, or tea, whichever Draco had.

Draco’s room and the bathroom were upstairs, along with a rather plain and empty guest room. The room right at the top of the stairs was an office, filled with over-crowded bookshelves and a desk piled with notes and files.

Harry went down the narrow staircase to the main entryway. There was a living room, as cluttered and messy as the office upstairs and a smaller, more formal sitting room that looked like it was rarely used by how clean it was. At the back of the house was a large open kitchen and dining area, the table was stacked with books and discarded mail. Harry had to smile to himself, he had never imagined Draco to be so messy with how tight-laced he was. It made him seem… more touchable and human.

Harry found a kettle on the back of the hob and set it to boil. The appliances were all electric, so the house was probably originally muggle. He poked around the kitchen, finding the pantry mostly empty except for some cleaning supplies, which were likely only used by the monthly house-elf. The refrigerator contained only old takeout containers, a jug of milk, chocolate milk and a few different kinds of juice. Another door led to a small utility room, the only sign of magic was a bottle of cleaning potion on the shelf instead of laundry detergent.

The kettle whistled shrilly, and Harry went back to it, filling two mugs with hot water and the only tea he could find. After a few minutes, Harry fished out the tea bags and added sugar to his cup. He put the other under stasis for Draco to fix as he preferred.

Harry gently blew on the top of the dark liquid and tried a sip that burned his lip. He cursed under his breath and set the mug back on the counter. The shower was still running faintly overhead.

Harry went back upstairs. He collected all the clothes off the floor, sorting Draco’s dress robes out of the pile, remembering that they were rentals and hung them up out of the way. Stripping the bed took longer than he thought it would, having to take off all the pillowcases and move the heavy feather duvet. Without a basket to put them in, Harry bundled it all into a sheet and took it back down to the washer to start a load of laundry.

He never really noticed much of a difference between muggle detergent and wizarding clothes cleaning potion. The big difference was the washing up. Molly still used a big tub of steaming water to do laundry, with magic doing the scrubbing and rinsing of the clothes, and muggles had a machine, which granted, took up more space.

“What is that noise?” Draco asked as he padded across the wood floors in a pair of grey slippers.

“I’m washing the sheets and pillowcases. I hung up your robes,” Harry said as Draco peered into the utility room, “Is that alright?”

Draco was wearing tight dark jeans and a loose long-sleeved white shirt, his hair still damp from the shower. His forehead furrowed in thought, “My office is really the only thing I’m particular about. Everything else is fine. Oh and the chocolate milk, I don’t want to share that.”

Harry smiled, “Got it.”

“I assume your clothes are in there as well?” Draco nodded to the washer.

“Yeah. Do you mind me staying?-”

“Stay for as long as you want,” Draco said, and then looked embarrassed he had said it, ducking back into the kitchen, “You can borrow some of my clothes just don’t stretch anything out.”

Thanks,” Harry said, leaning back against the whirring machine.

Harry could hear him opening cupboards, “Are you hungry? I have… coco pops, lucky charms and… golden nuggets, I didn’t like them much so they might be stale by now.”

Harry followed Draco with a smile. “Cereal? You must have a sweet tooth,” he teased gently.

“If I’m going to bother with breakfast it might as well be something I like,” Draco said, filling a bowl with coco pops and grabbing a spoon.

“I made tea and didn’t know how you liked it, but I’m guessing with sugar and milk,” Harry said.

Draco glared at him, milk in hand as he filled his bowl and added a splash to the mug under stasis and two spoons of sugar.

There was an empty bowl set out for Harry along with the three boxes of cereal. They were bright and colourful and looked like the sort of thing Dudley would have loved, and Harry would’ve never been allowed to have. He picked lucky charms because it had little marshmallows in it.

They leaned on the counter side by side, eating their bowls of cereal, Harry’s sweet as a cake, as Draco’s turned his milk chocolatey.

“This is a nice place,” Harry said, “Have you lived here long?”

“I bought it as soon as the trials were over,” Draco said, speaking into his bowl and oh so carefully not looking at Harry, “I couldn’t step foot back in the Manor.”

Harry nodded.

“It saved me some trouble in the long run since the Manor was seized a few months later,” Draco said.

“That seemed like an overreach by the Ministry to me,” Harry said.

Draco shrugged one shoulder, “They had to do something. They let my parents off without even a slap on the wrist last time, but just throwing my father in Azkaban wasn’t enough.”

Harry frowned a bit and finally asked, “How is your mother? I haven’t heard anything about her since the trials.”

“You don’t have to pretend to care about my family, Potter,” Draco said.

“I couldn’t care less about your father-”

A brief flash of hurt went across Draco’s features before disappearing into a rueful smile.

“-but I care about your mother. We… helped one another there at the end of the war,” Harry said.

“Of the two, she is certainly the better of them,” Draco said. He lifted his bowl, sipping the chocolate milk without thinking.

Harry grinned.

Draco glanced over at him with a belated flush of embarrassment.

“And how is she?” Harry asked again.

“Living with relatives in Paris.”

“Do you talk much?”

“She writes every week and we floo call once a month,” Draco said.

“No visits?” Harry asked.

“A few, birthdays, holidays,” Draco said.

“Is she-”

“Quite a shock when you suddenly quit the auror’s,” Draco interrupted, plainly done talking about his family, “I think everyone was surprised, they all thought you’d stay in the job until you made head auror and died.”

“Would the making head auror be the thing that killed me, or is it just a coincidence?” Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes and drank the last of his cereal milk, looking defiant. He put the empty bowl on the counter and traded it for the mug of warm tea.

Harry smiled and asked curiously, “Was it that surprising that I quit?”

“You were clearly miserable, but I didn’t think you’d actually quit because of that,” Draco said.

“Really?” Harry raised an eyebrow. As far as he knew, only Ron and Hermione had realised he wasn’t happy in the job.

“It’s never stopped you before,” Draco said.

Harry had to laugh at that, “True. I probably would have stayed, but Ron and Hermione sat me down and forced me to talk it through. And I realised that I was sort of only doing it because I felt like I had to.”

Draco’s brow furrowed.

Harry shrugged a shoulder, “Well, I mean… I’m quoting Hermione here a bit, but it’s like the wizarding world was the first place that really accepted me, that felt like home, but even from the beginning it felt conditional. I defeated Voldemort when I was a baby, and I kept fighting him to protect everyone and the two things kind of became linked in my mind? That I had to keep protecting this place and keep it safe so I could stay.”

Draco stared at his hands silently, his nails clinked against the white ceramic as he turned it in his hands. He shifted closer, and Harry felt Draco’s weight rest against his shoulder. Harry smiled at the brush of warmth.

“So I quit,” Harry said. “I’m still not sure what to do with myself, but I don’t miss the auroring.”

“...You’re still trying to save people,” Draco said, “With the fundraisers and galas, I can tell you hate them just as much.”

“Yeah, but I get to see you there,” Harry said.

Draco looked up, “I- you never said-”

“I didn’t want to be too much, scare you off,” Harry said quietly.

Draco quickly shook his head, “If the first disastrous eight years we knew one another couldn’t manage it, do you really think you could get rid of me now?”

Harry smiled ruefully, fishing the last bite of cereal floating on a sea of milk tinted faintly pink by the marshmallows.

“Aren’t you going to finish it?” Draco asked.

Harry shook his head.

Draco frowned whether he thought Harry was wasteful or simply stupid, Harry didn’t know. “It’s too sweet,” he laughed. “Do you want it?”

Draco hesitated and then nodded.

Harry contented himself with his mug of tea as Draco sipped the too sweet milk.

“...Is that why you’ve never invited me back to your place?” Draco asked.

“A bit. But um...After I broke it off with Ginny, she stayed in the flat, and I moved back into Grimmauld Place.” Harry said. “Sirius left it to me, but it’s old and creepy as hell.”

“Why keep it then?” Draco asked.

“It’s the closest thing I’ve got to a connection to my family,” Harry said. “You must have felt it too, when they took the Malfoy Manor, even if you hated it, it’s still your family home.”

“I think, I prefer the memories I have of it when I was young to seeing it now,” Draco shivered and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, “It affects me quite badly.”

Harry nodded.

The washer beeped loudly as it finished, and Harry went back to the utility room, pulling out the damp sheets and clothes and pushing them into the dryer.

“Isn’t there a spell for that?” Draco asked.

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Draco, leaning against the door frame, “Probably, but I don’t know it. And the dryer is better.”

Draco’s brow furrowed.

“It is. You’ll see,” Harry said. He found a wool ball for pulling static out of the clothes, and a bottle of lavender. He put a few drops of the oil onto the ball before starting the machine.

Draco looked unconvinced.

“Trust me,” Harry said.

“I have no reason not to. I just can’t fathom half of what you’re talking about,” Draco said.

“I could teach you,” Harry suggested.

Draco hesitated, “Perhaps.”

There was a tap-tap-tap at the window of an owl, a letter tied to its leg. Draco hurried over to retrieve it, opening it before the owl even had a chance to look annoyed.

Draco glanced up at Harry, “Hold the owl, I need to respond to this.” he said before hurrying upstairs.

“You heard him,” Harry said.

The owl looked thoroughly unimpressed and settled on the back of the chair to wait.

“I wonder if he has an owl treats around here,” Harry said absently.

But a further perusal of the cupboards found them mostly empty. Harry went to the table and began looking through the mess of papers, then began organising them. Newspapers in one pile, Business in another and letters from Narcissa, on periwinkle blue paper with curling perfect cursive script, in a different pile. Stacks of books took up one end.

The table tidied, Harry turned his attentions to the sink, filled with bowls, mugs and utensils but almost no plates. Harry was strongly starting to suspect that Draco lived entirely on cereal and takeaway. He found a clean scrubber and soap, again wizarding brand though Harry knew the difference there, the wizarding kind cost twice as much. He turned on the water and started working through the stacks of bowls and mugs, setting them on a towel until he could dry them.

Harry like washing dishes by hand. It felt good, getting everything clean one by one. His mind went quiet with the simple repetitive task, thinking only of what he was doing. He used a spell to dry them, mostly because he couldn’t find another dish towel. But he would have preferred to hand dry them as well.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked.

“Dishes,” Harry said, looking over his shoulder at Draco frozen at the bottom of the stairs, a piece of parchment held loosely in his hand.

“You… you don’t have to do anything,” Draco said carefully.

Harry hesitated for a second, “I wanted to. I wouldn’t bother if I didn’t.”

Draco managed a nod and walked over to the waiting owl.

Harry finished putting the silverware away, feeling the awkward tension in the air and letting it pass. This was new for both of them, and that was alright. There was a soft beep, and Harry went into the utility room, pulling open the dryer as it rumbled to a stop.

“Draco!” Harry called.

“What? Is something wrong?” Draco asked, the window clicking as he let owl out again.

“Nothing wrong, just come here,” Harry said.

Draco came into the utility room just as Harry found the sheets.

“What-?”

But he didn’t get a chance to finish. Harry swung the clean white fabric around Draco, pulling the sheet tight, and pulling him into Harry’s arms, wrapping them both up in warmth and softness and kissing Draco sweetly.

“And that’s why the dryer is better,” Harry said, pulling the sheet up over their heads and softening the light around them to pastels.

“You’re terrible,” Draco said, the tone of his voice saying entirely the opposite.

Draco bit his lip. It slipped from between his teeth, pink and wet. He studied Harry’s expression; looking so, _so_ careful, it broke Harry’s heart. He had to kiss him again, brushing their lips together so lightly, almost afraid to breathe.

Harry stayed close, their noses touching, watching Draco’s eyes, and the contrast of his slightly darker lashes against his pale skin.

“We could make up for last night,” Draco said softly.

“You’ll have to help me make the bed,” Harry said.

“Isn’t there a spell for that?”

Harry smiled, “Probably, but I don’t know it.”

Draco sighed but smiled ruefully, “We shall have to be quick then because I don’t want to wait.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


  
  


It felt like they were finding one another for the first time, holding each other like it was the last time, lingering like it was forever. Harry took his time learning every curve and jutting bone of Draco’s body. He could touch and kiss every inch of Draco’s skin, and coax new sounds of desire and wanting from both of them as they fumbled and tangled together. There was a feeling of giddy newness in this space of lost time where hours passed without their notice until they were sated.

The sheet, never quite tucked in, had been lost to the floor. Harry traced the line of Draco’s shoulder as he lay against Harry’s chest, the sweat slowly cooling on their skins. His fingers slid over the plane and down the ridge of Draco’s shoulder blade, his skin sweat soft under his touch. He could feel Draco’s heartbeat pressed close to his, gradually slowing as they finally caught their breath, and he hoped his heart kept time.

Harry had to force himself to hold his tongue. He knew he couldn’t push too much, not with how careful Draco was. He had never wanted anything more in his life than this, just being beside him.

“Shit,” Draco hissed under his breath, sitting up, “I have to return those bloody robes today. What time is it?”

“It’s still light out, you have time,” Harry said.

Harry sat up far more slowly. He watched Draco frantically retrieve his clothes and pull them on, wrinkled and mussed, his hair flying a bit wild around his face before grabbing the dress robes Harry had hung up.

Harry swung his legs over the edge of the bed as Draco summoned his shoes and tried to pull them on without losing his balance. He caught Draco’s wrist before he could cast again and pull him close, stealing a kiss, “Deep breaths. It will be alright.”

Draco frowned, sparing Harry a brief glare that quickly melted. He flexed his wrist, and Harry let go. Before Draco stepped back, he leaned in and kissed Harry again, lingering and reluctant to let go. He looked at Harry almost sadly, before taking a few steps back and apparating away.

Harry breathed out. He shivered faintly as the room seemed to grow colder without Draco in it. He got dressed, putting on a mix of his now clean clothes with a loose maroon pullover and some socks borrowed from Draco’s closet. Then he finished making the bed, fluffing the pillows and smoothing the duvet with both hands.

He glanced outside at the darkening sky and was reminded he hadn’t eaten anything since this morning. Knowing that the fridge downstairs only had juice and leftover takeaway, Harry grabbed his wand and apparated to Diagon to do some shopping.

The trip ended up taking longer than he thought, as everything he thought to cook needed spices and pots and pans Harry was pretty sure Draco didn’t have. He filled a trolley full to bursting with it all and had to spend five minutes shrinking bags and putting them into other bags so he could carry it all in two, with copious lightening charms to support the weight.

The biggest question was whether he could even go back, he didn’t know if Draco’s wards would allow him through without Draco’s side-along. But he apparated back into the kitchen as easily as if it was his own. It steadied Harry’s nerves, low and twisting in his stomach, he had been carrying and doing his best to ignore.

It was nearly dark when Draco finally returned, coming through the front door and closing it slowly, the click muffled by his sigh. Harry had only turned on the kitchen lights and he heard Draco’s footsteps drawn toward him, stopping just inside the room. 

“It took me a while to put all the shopping away, and then I got distracted by cleaning out the refrigerator, so dinner will have to be something simple,” Harry said, “How do you feel about tomato soup and cheese toasties?”

Harry turned around in the face of Draco’s silence. He couldn’t read his expression.

“I’ll leave. All you have to do is say,” Harry said.

Draco shook his head, a tiny, almost frantic movement.

“I know, I’ve overstayed-”

“No. No, I just didn’t expect you to still be here, I thought- I thought-” Draco’s voice drifted off, looking torn.

Harry waited, wanting to hear the end of that sentence.

“Surely you have better things to do,” Draco finished, though Harry was certain that wasn’t what he had been about to say.

“You know I don’t,” Harry said.

“Your friends, the Weasley’s-”

“I see them two or three times a month. They’ll owl me if they want to get in touch,” Harry said, “Besides, I’d rather get to know you better.”

“You probably know more about me than anyone other than my mother, after being in school together and that stupid book I wrote,” Draco said.

“I could say the same thing about me, but that isn’t-” Harry shook his head. “I want to know how you take your tea, and your favourite dessert, how to make you laugh… the real you.”

Draco’s cheeks took on a pink flush, looking down at his feet.

“But if you want me to go-”

“No,” Draco said, “Stay.”

Harry relaxed, smiling cautiously.

“You’d know if I wanted you to leave,” Draco said, “I’m not particularly good at being subtle.”

“Before, sure, but you’re always very careful now,” Harry said.

“I try, but you’ve always been the exception.”

“I’m flattered.” Harry said, “Tomato soup and cheese toasties?”

Draco blinked and finally moved, walking across the kitchen and leaning against the counter next to Harry, “I don’t suppose you have ham? I like ham and cheese best.”

“Afraid not, I’ll remember for next time,” Harry said.

Draco bit his lip, looking at his hands clasped together in front of himself, “Next time...”

“Too much?” Harry asked, trying to keep his tone light.

Draco shook his head, some of his loose blond hair falling in front of his eyes.

Harry dragged himself back to the stove. The soup was canned, but Harry hadn’t learned the knack for a home-made soup that tasted half as good. He put the soup in a small pot to heat on the stove.

“Too much,” Draco repeated quietly, “It worries you… being ‘too much’”

Harry heard the unspoken question and took a deep breath, “Too much, pushy, patronising, overbearing, smothering... It’s, uh, funny, I guess. I’m really bad at taking care of myself, but when I live with someone, I really like to take care of them. It’s, erm, it’s been a problem for me. Ginny said it made her feel useless, she wanted us to split housework equally. But whenever I see something that needs to be done, I just do it. I don’t think about it. It’s not about- I didn’t think less of her for it. _I_ saw us as equals… But it didn’t feel right to her.”

Harry shifted his weight, buttering the bread for the toasted cheese, “I’ve… I’ve never been good at expressing myself with my words. I never know what to say, unless it’s the wrong thing. I’m pretty good at saying the wrong thing.”

Draco laughed faintly, “I would agree with that.”

Harry glanced over with a smile, “Which is to say, taking care of people is sort of how I show I care.”

“...Luckily for you, being the spoiled brat I am, I’ve always been good at being taken care of,” Draco said.

“We make a good match then,” Harry said.

Draco flushed and looked pleased even as he tried to hide it.

“How do you feel about sitting on the counter?” Harry asked.

“Why?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Because I like the idea of kissing you on it,” Harry said.

Draco braced his hands on the edge of the counter, sliding himself back onto it, biting his lip with a shy smile.

Harry moved between his knees, sliding his hands up Draco’s thighs. He felt Draco’s legs tighten around him. Draco looped his arms around Harry’s shoulders, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair as his legs gently squeezed his hips. Harry leaned into him, nipping the lip Draco was always biting before kissing him.

Draco pulled back, still close enough Harry could feel the heat of his breath, “The soup is boiling over.”

“Shit,” Harry hurried over to the stove, pulling the pot off the burner as the room filled with the smell of burnt tomatoes.

Draco laughed, and when Harry glanced over, he saw a smiling in absolute delight and Harry made a frowny face just to make him laugh again.

He would stay, for as long as Draco would having him, and spend every moment he could making him happy.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Mod note: Thank you for reading this work of the Domesticity Fest! Remember to send the author a nice comment and a lovely Kudo!


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